


In Sleep he Sang to Me

by TSPrincxietyTrash



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Humans AU, I mean that's kind of the whole point, I've literally got no good reason to be writing this fic, M/M, Phantom of the Opera AU, Phantom/Sanders Sides Crossover, abusive behaviour, but he is also the villain, kind of sympathetic deceit, knowing me it's likely tbh, lots of #feelings, might be some smut later on, references to past abuse, specific triggers will be tagged at the beginning of each relevant chapter, tw deceit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TSPrincxietyTrash/pseuds/TSPrincxietyTrash
Summary: In Paris, 1881, the Opera Popularie is beginning its new season with two new owners, Mr. Logan Firmin and Mr. Virgil Andre.  When their lead tenor walks out on them after a frightening accident they find a promising new performer in Patton Daae, a ballet dancer with a beautiful singing voice.Patton has been receiving singing lessons from a mysterious person, unknown to all including Patton himself.  What will happen when Patton's new found success begins to draw the attention of various suitors, including his dear childhood friend, the Vicomte Roman de Chagny?





	1. The Opera Populaire

**Author's Note:**

> What is up everybody?!   
> This is the Sanders Sides Phantom of the Opera AU that literally no one asked for, starring: 
> 
> Deceit as the Phantom (YOU CAN'T STOP ME)  
> Patton as Christine   
> Roman as Raoul, the Vicomte   
> and   
> Logan and Virgil as the two (totally gay) owners of the theatre (Logan is Firmin and Virgil is Andre) 
> 
> ENJOY

_Paris, 1911_

 

 

The aged opera house stood where it always had, though for many years now it had been quiet and empty, devoid of any performances or human life, causing it to fall into disrepair.  The ornate glass dome situated on the roof of the building had turned grubby, many of the windows cracked and broken.  The Vicomte de Chagny, leant heavily on his walking stick as he looked up at the old building.  Even in its decrepit state, it was painfully familiar.  He thought to himself that he certainly now must look as aged as the building before him.  With the help of his assistant he hobbled through the doors, taking in the thick coat of dust covering every surface within and the large cobwebs adorning the rafters near the ceiling.

By the time the Vicomte took his seat in the audience for the old stage, the auction was well underway. 

“Lot 664,” the auctioneer announced in a loud, ringing voice.  The Vicomte closed his eyes against the harsh sound “A poster, in excellent condition, for this houses’ production of Hannibal, 1881, showing here,” the auctioneer gestured to another man at his side, holding the large faded poster aloft for all to see.  “Do I have 10 francs?” he asked loudly.  The Vicomte raised his number, continuing to outbid the others until the poster was secured as his.  “Lot 665, then,” the auctioneer’s voice rang out again.  The Vicomte peered at the catalogue in his hand and the heavy circle he had inked onto it around the numbers 664 and 665. “A rather beautiful papier-mache music box, in full working order, showing here,” the man who had displayed the poster now began to wind the music box.  The Vicomte felt his eyes mist over as a haunting melody echoed around the room.  “Ladies and gentlemen, do I have 20 francs?” the auctioneer asked.  Again, the Vicomte outbid his competitors, after all he had the francs to spare.  Once the music box was his it was brought to him for viewing.  The Vicomte could not help but gasp when he saw it up close.

“It’s just as he described it,” he whispered to himself, “Every detail,” the Vicomte gazed upon the music box, taking in the figurine of a small monkey in a plumb velvet waistcoat grasping two small symbols.  It was a thing of beauty.  The Vicomte was brought back to the present as the loud, grating voice of the auctioneer called out once more.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, lot 666, the chandelier in pieces,” the young man gestured up to the huge fixture above them, covered to protect it from the surrounding decay.  “Some of you may recall the story of the Phantom of the Opera… this is the very chandelier that featured in that famous disaster.  Once it is repaired and in working order we may have an idea of how it looked all those years ago…” the man rambled on, but the Vicomte was no longer listening.  He stared up at the covered chandelier, allowing the memories to overtake him and transport him back one final time…

 

 

_Paris, the Opera Populaire, 1881_

“Are you certain this is the correct address, Logan?” the voice that spoke close to his hear was low, but tinged with concern.  Logan sighed and glanced up and down the street quickly before taking Virgil’s hand in his own for a moment.

“Virgil, this is clearly the Opera Populaire.  I am indeed saddened that our predecessor is late in meeting us, however I am quite sure he will arrive presently and we will have our tour.  The payments have already been confirmed, this is our opera house now,” Logan spoke softly and kindly, but with no lack of firmness and certainty in his voice.  He hoped that this would reassure Virgil, and indeed it seemed to work as his companion’s shoulders relaxed a little. 

“Forgive me, I can’t help feeling anxious,” Virgil murmured and Logan glanced around again, to be sure the street was empty, before raising Virgil’s hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there.  At that moment the heavy stage door beside which they stood swung open, revealing a short, plump man wearing a bottle green velvet suit and a lime green bowler hat.  Virgil snatched his hand away while Logan marvelled at the clash of this small man’s clothing. 

“Mr. Moliere, I presume?” Logan asked, extending his hand only to have it grabbed tightly by pudgy, sweaty hands and wrung extensively. 

“Certainly! I apologize for the delay, gentlemen, you must be…” the short man trailed off as he looked from one to the other.

“I am Mr. Firmin, and this is my associate and business partner, Mr. Andre,” Logan introduced them.

“How do you do,” Virgil offered quietly, allowing Mr. Moliere to shake his hand. 

“Well then!” Mr. Moliere exclaimed, “Let us not waste any more time! Come on in, gentlemen, let me show you your new opera house!” and with that he spun around and re-entered the building, walking down the corridor at a spritely pace.  The two men exchanged a look before hurrying after him. 

As they were shown around the theatre, Logan couldn’t help but admire his partner now and then, particularly in the moments when soft lighting would throw his face into shadows a little, exaggerating his defined cheek-bones and dark eyes.  They had been together now for almost six years and, though marriage was regrettably not an option for them, both had made their feelings perfectly clear some time ago, that there would never be anyone else for either of them.  And so, in a way, this was their marriage to one another, buying this opera house and running it together.  It had not been difficult for them to keep their relationship a secret all these years, and so Logan was certain that they would have no trouble continuing to do so now. 

As Mr. Moliere continued to ramble about the building and all of the previous opera productions that had been held here, Logan observed Virgil and noted that he appeared to be far more relaxed now.  Finding comfort in this knowledge, Logan allowed himself to focus on his new place of work.  The building itself was utterly beautiful, ornate and impressive without being overbearing.  The décor was just modern enough to avoid giving the place a dated look, but it was also not so modern as to take away from the classic sense of opera and dramatics.  Logan felt his heart rate increase as they approached what was clearly the main stage, where he could hear a chorus singing loudly.  They entered the hall and, indeed, the stage was packed with performers in full costume, an explosion of colour and sound greeted them as soon as the doors were swung open.

“As you can see, gentlemen, rehearsals for Hannibal are well underway,” Mr. Moliere was saying as they made their way onto the stage.  The rehearsal was paused and excited chatter filled the air while the three men in suits made their way to the middle.  “Ladies and gentlemen! Your attention, please!” Mr. Moliere called loudly.  The chatter died down and then all eyes were upon them. “Ladies and gentlemen, I must announce that the rumours you have heard about my imminent retirement are in fact all true.  These two gentlemen, Mr. Logan Firmin and Mr. Virgil Andre are the new owners of the Opera Populaire,” this announcement was met with a smattering of applause and more hushed discussion. 

Amongst the crowd of excited performers Logan recognised Carlos Giudicelli, the leading tenor for the last 10 seasons.  His reputation as a nightmare to work with was indeed well known, and though Logan had little time for such people in most cases, he was well aware that Giudicelli was an excellent tenor and that, at the moment, they needed him. Logan came to a decision and approached the large imposing man.

“Ah Mr. Giudicelli, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, you have enjoyed great success here over the last few years,” Logan spoke quickly and quietly, he did however offer a small smile as he shook the tenor’s hand. 

“Quite so, Mr…” Giudicelli trailed off, waiting for Logan to supply his name.  Logan frowned at the lack of thanks, but proceeded nonetheless.

“Mr. Firmin,” he supplied, “And this is my associate, Mr. Andre,” he added, gesturing to Virgil, who was currently speaking somewhat animatedly with the rehearsal manager, much to Logan’s surprise.

“Charming,” Giudicelli remarked.  Logan frowned at the hint of something perhaps unkind in his tone. _You must be polite_ he told himself firmly. _Currently, you need this man for your business._ Logan forced his lips into a smile.

“If I do recall correctly, I believe your role has a rather charming aria in act two of this opera, I wonder if you might honour us with a private rendition, as a personal favour?” Logan asked, seeing the glint of delight in the other man’s eye, and he knew he had made the right decision.

“Certainly, I shall be delighted to accept,” Giudicelli’s voice was terribly smug and Logan almost frowned again, but he schooled his expression into neutral and walked over to Virgil and the rehearsal director to make the arrangements for this impromptu performance. 

A few minutes later, Giudicelli stood in the centre of the stage, the remainder of the cast gathered around the edges while Virgil, Logan and Mr. Moliere stood by the piano where the rehearsal director was now seated.  After a nod from Giudicelli, the man began to play, a soft a sweet melody filling the air.  Giudicelli began to sing, and Logan was most irritated to note that really, he had an incredible voice.  It was beautiful, there was no denying it.  He sang with great confidence, giving a full performance even in this informal setting until suddenly there was a deafening crash as one of the backdrops for the opera came cascading down, tearing as it fell and narrowly missing a group of ballet girls who had been huddled towards the back of the stage as they watched the performance.  Screams rang out through the hall as panicked performers dashed away from the offending prop.

“The ghost is among us!” one young woman was yelling repeatedly.  Logan sought out Virgil’s eyes with his own, finding him clutching the piano desperately, his eyes wide with fear.  Logan stared at him earnestly, hoping to convey his silent message, that everything was okay, they were both okay.  Yells continued to fill the air as the commotion continued until another loud bang and a terribly commanding presence caused silence to fall.  A tall, thin woman dressed entirely in black with her dark hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head now stood in the middle of the stage next to Giudicelli, glaring around at the company. 

“What on earth happened?” Mr. Moliere asked quietly, his voice shaking slightly.

“I suggest you ask Mr. Buquet,” the woman in black spoke with a sharp voice.

“Indeed, Madame Giry, might I ask that you fetch him now?” Mr. Moliere replied.  Logan took this opportunity to step close to Virgil.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low and quiet.  Virgil nodded hastily, loosening his grip on the piano finally and turning to watch as the intimidating woman returned with an older, balding man following in her wake. 

“Buquet! Explain yourself, what happened, man?!” Mr. Moliere demanded.  Buquet was clutching a severed rope, his eyes wide in confusion and fear, it seemed.

“Please, sir, I do not know.  I wasn’t there, no one is there, and if someone is then it must be a ghost!” Buquet shouted the end of his sentence, causing several members of the cast to gasp and begin speaking hurriedly.  Logan rolled his eyes.  He had had quite enough of this nonsense.

“Everybody please calm down!” he called over the noise, his voice commanding enough to cause the chattering to cease.  “This was clearly an accident,” he added, observing the severed and frayed rope.  He turned to Giudicelli, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Mr. Giudicelli, I do sincerely apologize for the interruption of what was a truly lovely performance, but these things do happen,” he finished reassuringly.  Giudicelli blinked a couple of times before Logan registered something akin to rage flash in his watery eyes.

“These things do happen! These things DO happen all the time!” Giudicelli was shouting now and Logan stepped back in surprise, “You have been here five minutes, what do you know! These things have been happening for three years, and not a soul tried to stop them! Well, until these things stop happening _my singing_ will stop happening!” he roared, and with that he spun around and marched off the stage. 

Logan stared wide eyed at the shocked faces around him.  The silence stretched on and on as everybody stared at the door through which Giudicelli had disappeared. 

“Eeh, I don’t think there’s much else for me to show you, gentlemen!” Mr. Moliere announced loudly, “If you need me, I shall be in Frankfurt!” he added, and then he was gone too. Logan turned to look at Virgil who was staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. 

“Sir,” Logan turned to address the rehearsal director who stood stock still next to Virgil. “Who is the understudy for the role?” he asked, pleased to note that he sounded calm and collected despite the anxiety coursing through his blood.

“Eh, I’m afraid there is no understudy, sir, the production is new…” the rehearsal director trailed off.  Logan’s heart began pounding in his chest. As he opened his mouth to speak again, a young boy from the ballet chorus approached him, clutching the wrist of another male dancer. 

“Patton Daae could sing it, sir,” the boy offered, pushing this Patton to stand before him. 

“A ballet boy?” Logan asked sceptically, raising one eyebrow as the young man looked up at him.  He was small and frail with chocolate coloured hair that fell about his face in delicate ringlets.  A smattering of freckles resided on his cheeks and nose, and Logan even noted their presence on his shoulders and arms as he looked the man up and down.  He had striking blue eyes and Logan could not help but notice that he was attractive, despite looking so timid and fragile. 

“Daae?” Logan heard Virgil ask.  His head whipped round to watch Virgil approach them. “That’s a curious name,” Virgil went on, taking another step closer, “Any relation to the violinist?” he asked, offering a small smile.  The young Daae seemed to relax a little.

“My father, sir,” he replied.  His voice was so sweet, even in speech.  In fact, his entire presence radiated sweetness and warmth, as if the gentleness of his soul were visible even on his rounded face. 

“Are you a competent singer?” Logan asked, attempting not to sound too harsh.

“He’s been taking lessons!” the boy who had spoken before piped up.  Logan glanced at him before looking back to Patton.

“Lessons? From whom?” he inquired.  Patton’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

“I…I don’t know, sir…” he replied softly.  Logan was unable to keep his eyes from rolling.

“Let him sing for you, sir,” the imposing woman dressed in black spoke once more, “He will not disappoint,” she added severely.  Logan sighed but nodded, heading back over to the piano.

“From the top of the aria, then,” he instructed.  A moment later, Virgil was standing beside him as they listened to the introductory bars of the song once more.  Patton stood in the centre of the stage, looking terribly small and Logan was sure this was a lost cause and they would have to cancel a full house on their first night of the production when suddenly Patton Daae began to sing.  And somehow, all other thoughts were driven from his mind as this tiny, delicate man suddenly became a commanding presence on the stage, stepping into the character as his voice rang out through the hall, beautiful and mesmerising.  It was joyous to behold, never had he heard such singing before in his life.  As Patton continued to sing, keeping his audience entirely captivated, Logan leaned close to Virgil to speak directly into his ear.

“I think we may have found our new star tenor,”


	2. Angel of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo apparently this fic is going in a rather..... suggestive direction.....   
> Who are we kidding Phantom is pretty suggestive as it is... 
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy!

The crowd cheered, applauded, roared, whistled and begged for more as the curtain fell, leaving Patton Daae alone in the middle of the stage, still smiling his brightest smile as the sound of cheering, now muffled, could still be heard on the other side of that thick, red velvet barrier.  His brow glistened with sweat and his chest heaved from the effort of the performance, but he could scarcely remember having felt such a thrill, such unadulterated joy as when he sang on this stage. 

His damp curls hung around his face, his cheeks rosy from the heat, and his corset tight around his already slim waist.  He was used by now to wearing almost nothing on stage, having participated in ballet productions since he was a young boy, however he was not used to being in such a state of undress with so many people to notice him, so many eyes roaming over his body.  Even now, at the end of the first full week of performances, it still felt foreign and strange to him to be on stage in only this ornate corset and thick tights, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.  He had a feeling the costume had perhaps been designed this way intentionally, still he was anxious to wrap himself in his silk robe that awaited him in his dressing room.  The applause had died out almost entirely now, so he deemed it safe to exit the stage, running straight into a group of excited ballerinas as he did so, all eager to congratulate him. He felt his cheeks colour a deeper red at the praise, dismissed their kind words and reciprocated embraces and compliments until he managed to wind his way back to his dressing room, safe from prying eyes and wondering hands.  Patton gazed at his own reflection in the large, golden-framed mirror, taking in his flushed cheeks and chest, his glasses in delicate rounded frames slightly askew on his face, his legs on full display.  He fought back his feelings of discomfort and turned away, reaching for the silken robe and relishing the feel of the cool material on his skin as he wrapped it around himself.  After taking a moment to allow himself to breathe, he sat at the three-piece vanity set situated against the wall opposite the door in the cramped room.  The dark oak of the furniture seemed to absorb much of the light offered by the dim oil-lamps situated here and there, but the darkness felt like warmth and comfort to Patton after the oppressive heat and light of the stage. 

His first week as a lead tenor had certainly been incredible, and he hadn’t expected to love performing as much as he did.  The excited rush before he began to sing, the all-encompassing joy of becoming another, using his body and voice to tell a story, it was exhilarating, addictive even, but he could not deny that he was exhausted too.  He glanced at the small framed photograph on the table before him, a handsome sturdy man looked back at him.  His father.

“I do hope you are proud,” Patton murmured to himself.  Just as he was about to change and prepare to walk home there was a sharp knock on the dressing room door.  His heart increased its beating in nerves as he tentatively made his way to the door and pulled it open.  On the other side stood a devilishly handsome man, tall with dark skin and thick dark hair swept away from his face.  He had a strong jaw and warm brown eyes and his smile was incredibly lovely, sparkling with joy and charm to spear and Patton felt every ounce of anxiety leave his body for he knew that face so well.

“Patton Daae,” the man stated in a pleasant baritone voice, his smile somehow brightening further and Patton smiled back as he threw caution to the wind and flung himself into the arms of his dear childhood friend. 

“Oh, Roman!” he exclaimed as he felt his eyes mist with tears.  He resolutely blinked them back as Roman embraced him, his familiar masculine scent surrounding Patton and comforting him greatly.  “How long it’s been!” Patton added as he finally pulled back, regaining his composure and gazing up into Roman’s handsome face.

“My dear Patton, I have missed you these long years,” Roman replied.  Patton stepped to the side at once, inviting Roman into the small dressing room.  He closed the door behind them and offered Roman another smile, hardly daring to believe that it really was him.

“When did you return from your travels?” Patton asked him, noting that his usually dark hair had been streaked with lighter strands from exposure to the sun. 

“Only a few months ago, I’ve been given the title of Vicomte de Chagny,” Roman beamed and Patton felt his heart swell with happiness.

“That’s wonderful, Roman,” his voice was soft despite his excitement, nostalgia turning his thoughts rosy and sweet as he remembered their childhood adventures.  “Say, do you remember when we were only children, and we used to climb into the attic with picnic baskets?” he asked excitedly, unable to contain himself.  Roman’s eyes light up beautifully at the memory

“Why of course!  We would read to each other, dark stories and tales of fairies and nymphs -” Roman began and in all his haste Patton cut him off joyfully

“And Father would play the violin!” Roman nodded enthusiastically at Patton’s addition, and Patton couldn’t help but note the dusting of colour on Roman’s cheeks, perhaps due to the warmth of the cramped room, or perhaps it was something else.  “I wish I had known you would be in the audience tonight, I’m sure it would have soothed my anxiety!” Patton confessed, glancing up at Roman through his eyelashes. 

“Sweet Patton, the moment I realised it was you in the lead I wanted to see you, but it was impossible, the show was about to begin,” Roman explained, looking slightly sheepish.  Patton offered a reassuring smile.  “When did you begin your lessons?” Roman asked, his eyes full of wonder and curiosity.  Now it was Patton who looked sheepish as he glanced around the room.

“You’ll think me mad,” he confessed under his voice.  Roman’s lips tilted into an amused smirk

“An impossibility!” he exclaimed.  Patton almost shook his head at the display, but he could not deny that Roman’s confidence gave him courage.

“In truth, Roman, I’m not sure how long I’ve been having these lessons… and…” Patton trailed off, the strangeness of what he was about to confess weighing upon his heart.  Suddenly Roman was at Patton’s side, gently taking one of his hands and pressing a soft kiss to the back in comfort and reassurance.  Patton stared with wide eyes.

“What is it, Patton dear?” Roman asked quietly, his eyes full of care and concern, gazing into Patton’s own.

“I… I don’t even know who my teacher is, Roman,” he whispered, the absurdity of it would surely be too much for Roman, Patton thought, but his expression did not change, he merely gripped Patton’s hand tighter in his own. 

“Please do not worry, your voice is a gift, Patton.  I believe your Father has sent the Angel of Music to you as he always said he would in our youth,” Roman spoke reverently, his voice kind and as Patton looked into his familiar and beautiful eyes, he knew Roman meant every word, and he was certain he could feel his heart melt in his chest.

“Do you think he would be proud of me, Roman?” he heard himself ask.  Roman’s strong arms were around him at once

“Patton, there is no question.  None at all,” he murmured into Patton’s hair.  Patton lent into the warm embrace, pressing close.  A moment later Patton attempted to pull back but Roman kept his arms firmly around him.  He looked up into Roman’s eyes to see them warm with affection and perhaps something else… He suddenly felt very aware of his state of undress.  Roman pulled back fully to smile brightly at him as Patton’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and excitement in equal measures. “And now, we go to supper!” Roman announced boisterously.  Patton’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Oh Roman, I’m not sure that’s wise!” Patton began to protest but Roman brushed him off, walking briskly to the door.

“Fear not, I shan’t keep you up late! You must change, I must fetch my hat! Two minutes, my dear, and I’ll be back,” and with that Roman swept from the room, the door closing softly behind him.  Fear crept up Patton’s spine as he stood alone now in the room.  He may not know exactly who his teacher was, but he was no fool, and he was sure his strict teacher would not approve of Roman’s apparent _interest_ in Patton.  No sooner had these thoughts come to Patton when suddenly the large, ornate mirror standing on the wall next to him swung forward on creaky hinges, and there he was.  Patton stared, eyes wide with wonder and fear at the figure before him.  Tall and cloaked, dressed all in black of the finest silk, a bowler hat with a yellow ribbon atop his head and his face, half covered by a white porcelain mask.  He was at once menacing and mesmerizing. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Patton breathed.  A small smile spread over the other’s lips and Patton felt his heart thud harder in his chest. 

“My darling Patton,” his voice was deep, slightly rasping, it sent chills racing up Patton’s back.  The whole room seemed to fill with frozen air and Patton could hardly catch his breath “I beg you, come with me,” the man held out a gloved hand and somehow, hardly knowing what he was doing, Patton reached out his own hand, his skin tingling when they made contact.  And suddenly he was being pulled along, down dark twisting corridors he didn’t recognise, unsure where he was, and unable to care as he gazed upon this mysterious figure, finally making himself known. 

Patton could not tell how long they walked, had no sense of how far they had strayed from the Opera Populaire.  All of his senses were attuned to this tall stranger, at once known and unknown, as he was pulled through a forest, mist curling through the trees all around them.  Eventually they stopped at the side of a vast glassy lake where a smooth and sleek boat of jet black awaited them.  The stranger helped Patton step into the boat and for the first time he looked away to gaze across the lake, the water pitch black in the darkness.  Patton shivered, sensing the eyes of the other upon him as he gazed at the small, nondescript building looming out of the mist on the other side of the lake.  Soon enough the strange man was lifting Patton out of the boat, guiding him through the door and down a huge sweeping staircase.  Patton stared in awe at the uncountable number of candles stationed everywhere, and yet the darkness of this underground place was endless, ever present, pressing in from all sides.  Patton felt his heart beating quick in his chest as he was gripped by fear, but somehow he felt safe too, something told him his host would go to great lengths to preserve his safety. 

“Where are we?” Patton dared to ask as he was ushered into a large studio like room.  An ornate piano sat in the centre, surrounded by manuscript paper, parchment and ink littered every available surface.  A scarlet chez-long stood out in the darkness against one wall.  It was windowless and cold, the shadows stretched and morphed by the flickering light of so many candles. 

“My dearest, this is my home,” the cold voice felt like frozen fingers brushing his cheek and Patton felt helpless to do anything but stare as the man hung up his cloak and hat, smoothed out his deep brown hair before turning to face Patton, his face still obscured by the half mask.  Patton stared, his skin was so pale, it stood out against the darkness of his suit, and his surroundings.  Patton could see that one of his eyes was a brilliant green, but the other was shrouded in darkness by his mask.  How he yearned to pull that mask back, to gaze upon the face of his devoted teacher.  The man grinned wickedly, moving closer to Patton, raising a hand to brush softly along his cheek.  Patton shuddered, his skin lighting in burning fire at the touch. 

“Why… why have you brought me here?” he asked, his heart racing.  His host made no answer, but leaned closer still to brush his lips across Patton’s jaw.  Patton gasped and took a step back, frantically trying to calm his racing mind.  “Who are you?” he asked instead when the man still did not answer.  He grinned wickedly once more.

“Why Patton, I thought you knew,” he almost hissed, his eyes taunting in the darkness “They call me The Opera Ghost, or sometimes, The Phantom,” fear and curiosity twisted in Patton’s chest.  Surely this could not be real, he must be dreaming. 

“The Phantom?” Patton repeated, his voice shaking with emotion.  He nodded before taking both of Patton’s hands in his own.  Suddenly his face seemed softer, the warm glow of the candle light throwing the features not obscured by the mask into pleasant shadow and Patton felt himself smile.

“All my life,” the man known as The Phantom began, his voice soft and gentle now, “I have waited for someone with a voice like yours, Patton, with a _heart_ like yours, to help me bring my music to life,” it seemed he was speaking with the deepest honesty, his eyes shining as he gazed at Patton.

“Someone like me?” Patton asked quietly.  The Phantom nodded earnestly, lifting his hand to brush it through Patton’s delicate curls

“Patton, most people fear me, they will not hear my music, or listen to me sing.  But you, you are the picture of sophisticated grace, you are divine beauty and people _listen_ to you when you sing.  That is why I have brought you here, that is why I have been teaching you lo these many months,” Patton’s heart was beating incredibly quickly now, astounded at what he was hearing.

“I’m so sorry that people do not listen to your music, it’s so beautiful I can’t bear to think of  it never heard, never shared with the world,” Patton spoke quietly, compassion seeping into his voice as he thought of all the hard work this man had done, only to be ignored due to his apparent… eccentricities. 

“From the moment I first heard you sing, Patton, I knew you were the one.  The one I would teach, the one who would share my music, who would understand me with your kind soul,” the man had both of his arms around Patton now, holding him close and Patton could hardly believe what he was hearing.  This sounded almost like a confession of love.  Patton blinked several times as he gazed at the half-obscured face.  Who on earth was this man?  For surly he could not truly be a phantom. 

“I would be happy to be your student still, if you will have me,” Patton whispered, his head spinning from the proximity, the scent of the other man was all around him, all encompassing, he could hardly think, he could hardly breathe. 

“Then have you I will,” the low voice murmured, sultry and sweet, and Patton’s eyes widened before chapped lips were pressed to his.

And then his mind went blank.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys.... Let me know if you want any actual smut in this, or if I should just keep it, y'know, kind of suggestive/implied, cause honestly at the moment I don't know which way it's headed! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, hope you're enjoying it!!

**Author's Note:**

> Boy I have absolutely no good reason to be writing this. I just really love Phantom and the idea of these characters in this setting. 
> 
> I am using basically no creativity here, the plot is literally just the plot of Phantom, this is more a study of characters and an exercise in writing prose. And an excuse to write Roman and Patton falling in love because I am WEAK for Royality.
> 
> I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT ANYWAY


End file.
